What Fate Decrees
by Mistress of the Darkwood
Summary: A sequel to Oaths. LaCroix has lost everything... or has he? Maybe it isn't too late to set the past to rights.


Notes, disclaimers and such:

This story is a direct sequel to "Oaths" , which can be found here on site with other of my fic .

This story only exists because I was pestered unmercifully by several folks who know who they are g I swore there would never be a sequel, but what do I know?

Thanks to Kylie for feedback, support, and some of the aforementioned pestering, and to Molly for insisting there had to be a sequel a mere few days after I posted "Oaths" (It only took me three odd years to comply :) ). Special thanks go to Kell, April, and Paul for various betaing chores. All remaining errors are mine alone.

The Forever Knight folk belong to the all-powerful PTBs. Gwen, Vhandra, and the rest belong to me.

If you enjoyed the story, please let me know! It's nice to know if anyone out there is reading. And thanks for reading!

* * *

What Fate Decrees

c. 2001

* * *

Lucien LaCroix walked into the nightclub. Though, he considered, calling it a nightclub was too generous by half. 'Dive' might be more appropriate, he thought as he surveyed the seedy Rio de Janeiro club in distaste. It made the Raven seem genteel and civilized by comparison. He wondered at the state of the Rio vampire community if this was the best they could do. Pushing aside his disapproval, he began to wend his way through the murky interior. 

Arriving in Rio de Janeiro near dawn that morning, he had wasted no time in making his way to 'O Preto Juriti' as soon as the sun had set. The Black Dove; the irony of the name did not escape him. LaCroix wasn't quite sure what had brought him to this place, this city. Perhaps only the opportunity to renew old ties in a place as different from Toronto as he could think of. The last year had been one of loss: Brigh, Gwen, Divia... Nicholas. To forget the past or to remake it; he didn't much care.

The one-time Roman general had set aside his habitual black on black clothing for this trip. Instead, choosing a banded collar raw silk shirt, the burgundy colour so deep, it might almost be mistaken for the black of his suit in the smoke filled gloom. His only ornament was a ruby tack, which replaced the top button of his shirt, in a gold Etruscan setting.

The aura of his power created a path through the throngs of patrons, vampires and mortals alike. Those that didn't move out of the ancient's path on their own were pushed aside -- none objected. LaCroix grabbed a waiter by the arm on his way to the bar. "Vhandra. Where is she?" he demanded, his blue eyes like chips of ice.

The vampire looked up at his captor warily, shaking his head mutely. He was young but not stupid. But the prospect of what his mistress would do to him should he comply warred with the immediate fear of what the ancient that held him would do if he didn't. "I... I haven't seen her this evening," he finally got out. This at least was the truth.

"Then where would she be?" LaCroix squeezed the waiter's arm a little tighter. "I grow impatient," he warned. This time when he squeezed, he was rewarded with the sound of bone popping.

The waiter was now terrified. He began to shake, trying to think of an answer that would please. He was saved from having to with the interruption of a velvety female voice. "Must you always terrify my pets, Lucien?" the voice said from behind.

LaCroix casually flung aside the younger vampire, his presence instantly forgotten at the familiar sound. "If they were ever in the least cooperative, I wouldn't have to," he countered, turning towards her, an amused twist to his lips.

As seedy as the club was, its owner was the opposite. Tall and graceful, with the build of a dancer, Vhandra was the epitome of elegance. From the top of her perfectly coifed mane of ink black hair to the toes of her Italian pumps, she was a study in beauty. Her topaz eyes gazed serenely at Lucien from an oval face, with skin the colour of Darjeeling tea with just a hint of milk. The deep copper of her silk shantung dress accentuated those eyes, making them almost catlike.

"I've never found them to be anything but extremely cooperative, Lucien." She smiled at him. "Perhaps it's just your... acerbic personality?"

LaCroix laughed, taking her hand in his and bringing it to his lips. "You've never complained about my personality before," he whispered against her hand. His blue eyes ensnared her golden-brown ones, and she smiled, remembering...

Bombay: New Years Eve, 1928

LaCroix pulled the girl into an anteroom, away from revelers in the ballroom. She struggled futilely in his grip, knowing what he was and what he would do to her if she didn't escape. He held her away from him, watching her in grim amusement. He could have made her compliant of course, but this was so much more satisfying.

"Now, my little English rose," he said softly, "we shall get to know one another much better." He ran his fingers down the soft skin of her throat, reveling in the feel of it, anticipating the moment. Strains of a waltz could be heard wafting into the small room, making a strange counterpoint to the girl's panicked breathing.

He had watched her all evening, flitting from one partner to another as one piece of music ended and another began. Her creamy white skin contrasted with black hair that wisped pixie-like around her small face. She was like a china doll, delicate and fragile. The blood lust rose, and he let it, glorying in it; these soirées of Vhandra's were always so invigorating. The vampire knew the girl was one of Vhandra's pets, but she had never minded sharing with him before. And this one was still quite unbroken -- not yet the numbingly pallid thrall that his lover's creatures eventually became.

So he had waited for his moment. It came as the girl whirled past him in a rather vigorous polka. He neatly stepped in, taking her in his arms and mentally pushing aside her dance partner. The man just stood there, dazed, as the dancers moved around him. LaCroix whirled her past the columns that bordered the ballroom and out into the hall as the last note of music died and the room burst into applause.

"Please, sir, the dance has ended," the girl protested, trying to pull away when LaCroix didn't release her.

He pulled her close, whispering in her ear, "Au contraire, ma petite. The dance has just begun."

And here they were; the dance indeed just beginning. LaCroix held her against his chest, her back taut with fear against him. He ran his fingers through her short hair, enjoying its silkiness, but not sure he liked this new fashion. LaCroix loved long hair on a woman, relishing the sensations it brought: the feel of it running through his fingers, the weight of it against his chest when a lover looked down on him, or moving the heavy mantle of it aside to feed.

He satisfied himself instead with running his lips from her temple, down over here ear to the hollow of her throat. Still the girl whimpered. "Please, don't. The Lady Vhandra..." she began, only to be cut off by LaCroix.

"The Lady Vhandra is a generous hostess and would never deny her guest the bounty of her home," he said quellingly, tiring of her protests. "Now, be silent! This can be pleasant or unpleasant -- the choice is yours." He sat on the divan, pulling the now silent girl into his lap and tilting her head to the side, nuzzling her throat, drawling her in. She sighed softly. "There, you see?" he whispered. "I told you this could be pleasant."

"Lucien! Unhand my girl this instant!" LaCroix looked up to see an enraged Vhandra at the door. She slammed it behind her and stalked over to where he sat, the gold encrusted emerald silk of her sari rustling like autumn leaves against her long legs.

He looked up at her with eyes tinged gold. "I don't think so, Vhandra. I want her."

"Want someone else! I've cultivated Emily since she was fifteen. Three years, Lucien. Three years! She is mine. My creature! I will not let you ruin all my effort." She glowered at him, her eyes now gold with anger.

"Ah yes, one of your pets," he said dismissively, ignoring her anger. "Really, Vhandra, I can not understand what you derive from these drawn out transformations of yours."

"You don't need to understand," she bit out. "Just let Emily go. Now!" Her voice softened. "Come, Lucien, allow me my little eccentricities. Surely after a thousand years I deserve a few?"

He looked at her thoughtfully. "And what do I get for my generosity and understanding?" he asked, his voice pitched deep with lust. He pushed the now acquiescent Emily off his lap to the floor, his hand resting on her throat.

"My good will." He snorted. Vhandra licked her lips. "You get me in your bed instead of the timid Emily in your veins." She moved closer, rubbing her hip against his shoulder. "My blood in your veins."

"Maybe I want timid and submissive." He looked up at her with gleaming eyes, snagging her wrist and pulling her unresisting down to the marble floor.

She knelt next to the divan, running her hands across his thighs. "I can be submissive, Lucien," she said, slightly breathless at the look of hunger in his eyes.

"Prove it," he growled as his lips took hers...

* * *

"Those were the days," Vhandra said dreamily. 

LaCroix pulled her closer. "They can be again."

Placing a hand against his chest, she leaned up, brushing her lips across his jaw. "Why are you here, Lucien? You didn't just drop by to chat about old times."

He looked around the club. "Surely we can take our conversation somewhere more... refined?" he asked with just a hint of disdain for his surroundings. Eyeing the mass of unwashed humanity that clogged the dance floor and the bar he decided when it was time to feed, he would hunt elsewhere.

"You are such a snob!" she exclaimed.

"Because I prefer not to socialize in this pit you call a nightclub?" he snapped.

"Pit? Compared to what? Calcutta? The slums of New Delhi?" She sniffed. "You may not approve of my current surroundings, but they suit my purposes quite nicely. The desperate and needy don't frequent the Ritz, after all." She turned away, signaling the bartender as she walked to the bar. The man promptly placed a cut crystal goblet by her hand and filled it from a decanter of the same style.

Sighing in irritation, LaCroix followed her, sitting on a barstool next to where she leaned against the bar. He watched her sip from her glass for a moment before asking, "Aren't you going to offer your guest some refreshment as well?"

Vhandra looked at him balefully over the edge of the crystal. "Oh very well," she said, signaling her bartender once more.

LaCroix swallowed a smile at her irritation, accepting the glass of private stock from the bartender. "Indeed, no one could mistake this place for the Ritz," he commented, sipping from his glass, amused despite himself. He'd forgotten just how invigorating the company of an equal -- well, almost an equal -- could be. "You don't fool me, my dear. I know very well why you picked such a place to hold court."

She quirked a brow, but said nothing, waiting to be enlightened.

He sipped again, savoring the nuances of the blood as he rolled it over his tongue, ignoring the impatient set to his companion's face. Glancing at her, he trailed his fingers across her bare arm. "A princess without subjects. What better way to relive your past than to recreate it here? Peasants, supplicants..." he leaned in closer to whisper, "slaves."

She laughed, full throated and rich. "Ah, you do know me so well, Lucien. Me and my eccentricities," she said, bringing the fingers he trailed across her arm to her lips and running her tongue across the tips.

His sharp intake of breath made her smile like a Cheshire cat. She'd always enjoyed the power she could wield over LaCroix with nothing more than a touch or a look. It had been too long since they had been together. But not quite yet -- she still wanted to play. "You still haven't told me why you're here, my love," she reminded him, nipping at the skin between his thumb and forefinger, loving the sound of his low growl.

This time he growled in frustration, sliding his hand against the back of her neck and pulling her lips to his. His mouth plundered hers and she responded in kind. Her hands gripping his arms, she leaned against him, glorying in the feel of him, of his passion for her. LaCroix broke the kiss, holding her head in a strong grip. "Your rooms. Now, Vhandra!" he commanded when it seemed she would demure yet again.

Her eyes sparked at his preemptory order, but she complied, wanting him more than she wanted to stand on principle. Taking his hand in hers she led him towards an unprepossessing metal fire door at the back of the room. Opening the door, she warned, "I won't always submit, Lucien. Don't expect it to become a habit."

"The proud princess," he mocked, "her resolve always undone by lust." He pushed her through the door before she could reply, slamming it behind them. "You know I always win, Vhandra."

She leapt at him, eyes gold with rage. LaCroix chuckled as she attacked him, grabbing her arms and pulling her hard against him. "I hate you sometimes, Lucien!" she snarled.

"Only sometimes? How disappointing." Further talk was interrupted by Vhandra's lips on his, demanding entrance and the battle moved on to more pleasurable arenas.

* * *

Like Vhandra, her private rooms were elegant and beautiful. Each room was a study in Indian art and décor. LaCroix could almost believe they were in Bombay instead of Brazil, half a world away. 

The two vampires lay entwined in Vhandra's huge bed, surrounded by diaphanous draperies of gold and black that matched the silk sheets they reposed upon. Sinuously she slid up his body and kissed him languorously on the mouth. He returned the kiss briefly, before twisting suddenly so she lay beneath him. "Why did you sell my ruby mine?" he asked suddenly, pinning her wrists above her head with one large hand.

She looked at him in disbelief. "That's why you're here? Because of your silly mine?"

"Not a 'silly mine', Vhandra, a very profitable one. Or at least it was until you sold it for some inexplicable reason!" He glared down at her, tightening his grip on her wrists. "I left it in your care and you sold it without even contacting me!"

"That was over six years ago! You're showing up now? A little late in the day, Lucien. And I did contact you," she protested.

"I was... indisposed, when your letter arrived. And you contacted me after the deed was done. That's hardly the same thing, as well you know." He released her and rolled off the bed to tower over her, scowling. "Why did you sell it?"

Vhandra ignored him, getting out of the bed and sauntering into the living room, not bothering with a robe. LaCroix followed, forcing himself to concentrate on her words and not her naked body. Pouring herself a glass from the decanter on the table, she corrected coolly, "I didn't sell it. I traded it."

"Traded it for what?" he ground out, pulling her around to face him.

Not meeting his eyes, she finally replied, "A palace."

He started to speak, then thought better of it, rubbing his chin in irritation. Finally he repeated, "A palace." She nodded.

What he most wanted to do at this moment was wring his old lover's neck. Clenching his jaw, LaCroix restrained himself with great difficulty. But one look at Vhandra's attitude of total unconcern, and all restraint fell away. "You traded my ruby mine for a dwelling?" he thundered.

"Not a dwelling, Lucien! A palace! My family's winter palace, at the foot of the Himalayas. I hadn't heard from you in fifty years and I needed capital that I didn't have. I didn't think you'd mind. What's a little ruby mine amongst old lovers, hmm?" She pressed herself against him. "Don't be angry. The deed is in your name as well. You can use it whenever you like."

"And that is supposed to appease me, Vhandra? You'll have to do better than that." He pushed her away.

"The mine was close to running out anyway. It was a good deal!" He just gave her with a withering stare. "It was! In fact, I checked up on it last year when I was home and production is down considerably."

"You can produce these reports, no doubt?" he asked caustically.

"If you wish," she replied, ignoring his foul mood. She took his arm. "Just visit the palace, please. If you hate it I'll pay you back, I promise. But you won't hate it, I know you won't." Leaning against him, she purred, "Just imagine it. The air a fragrant cloud of flowers, streams rushing past crisp and clear from the mountains that tower above, all the privacy in the world to make love. And no one to question anything we do. The thrill of the hunt amongst my own subjects."

"Former subjects," he corrected coldly. "You aren't a princess of anything anymore. You seem to forget that frequently." Before she could interrupt, he continued, "But it does sound...enticing. Very well, before I decide, I will visit your palace."

"You won't regret it, Lucien."

"If I do regret it, believe me, my dear, so will you," he promised her darkly.

* * *

A servant refilled their goblets as they lounged on the amber silk brocade sofa. "I can't fault your reserve," LaCroix commented, tilting his glass towards Vhandra, "but I would prefer something...fresher." 

"Your wish is my command," Vhandra said, smiling wickedly. "Andre, come here." At his mistress's order, the servant, nervous, slopped the wine-laced blood he was pouring into a decanter over the snow-white carpet. He was cringing even before the blow fell. Her palm cracked against his cheek, knocking him to the ground. "Look at what you've done, you fool!" She turned to LaCroix who was watching the scene unfold with interest. "You wanted something fresher? Since Andre is incapable of even pouring a glass of wine, he may as well serve some purpose."

"Actually, I was thinking of hunting. You know I have no interest in your tamed and broken pets."

"Don't say I didn't offer my hospitality," she hissed angrily before pulling the dazed servant to her. She sank her fangs into the unfortunate's neck, drawing his blood furiously. Finished, she dropped his lifeless body back to the floor and rang the bell for another servant to take care of the body.

LaCroix walked up behind her, biting at her throat. He spun her around, licking away the droplets of blood that dripped across her chin. She moaned at the touch, melting into his hold. "You must have trouble keeping staff," he commented dryly.

She pulled away, sniffing disdainfully. "There is an endless supply. You simply make them 'in-betweens' and they are your willing slaves no matter how they fear you."

"And I'm sure they do fear you, my love," he said, amused for the moment with her mercurial moods.

She looked at him suspiciously. "Are you laughing at me, Lucien?" He shook his head, his eyes sparkling. "Don't mock what you've never tried. If you had, you would understand!"

"The thought of keeping mortals in my thrall, no matter how servile is not a notion I relish. I have no wish to be encumbered so," he said scornfully.

She stiffened at his tone, but the servant appearing stopped her reply. "You rang, my lady?" It was the young vampire waiter from the night before.

"Yes, Henri, clear away that," she ordered, indicating the body. "And send Thia to me." Her orders given, Vhandra turned her attention once more to LaCroix. "I believe I may be able to change your mind. Wait till you meet Thia."

He rolled his eyes, exasperated. "I've met your female pets before. I can't imagine how one more will change my mind."

"Don't be like that," she scolded. "She isn't like the others. In fact, I may even bring her across -- eventually. Or I may snap her neck in a fit of rage. I haven't decided," she said airily.

"What is the point of bringing her across? Once you've finished breaking her sprit, she'll be a poor excuse for a vampire," he said disapprovingly.

"And that is a problem why? Do you think I'd prefer the headstrong, willful children that you sire? Like Nicholas?" She laughed sharply. "Don't lecture me about what's proper in a fledgling, Lucien!"

He bit back a response. He was not going to discuss Nicholas with her. The last memories he had of his son were still too raw. Instead he drained his glass, refilling it and draining that one as well.

"Oh, come, Lucien, don't glower." She kissed his cheek. "I'll share her with you. You can have her body, her blood. We can take her together. You said it could be just like old times," she whispered in his ear.

Wrapping his arms around her, he felt a rush of anticipation despite himself. "I remember how much you liked to watch," he whispered back, feeling her shiver.

"And perhaps you can persuade her to give you the information she denies me."

"Information?"

"When I found her, she was already 'marked' by another vampire. That was what intrigued me from the beginning. But no matter how I punish her, she never tells me who it is. She even manages to keep it from me in her blood," Vhandra said, becoming angry at remembering how her creature would not break.

"What does it matter?" LaCroix asked reasonably.

"It matters because she defies my will!" she practically shouted. Calming herself with visible effort, she continued, "You've always had a talent for breaking the recalcitrant. I'm sure you can procure the knowledge I seek."

"Knowledge comes with a price," he reminded her. "Are you willing to pay mine?" His head lowered to her shoulder, fangs biting into the skin. She gasped in his hold at the sensation.

As he licked away her blood, she said shakily, "Oh yes, Lucien. Always."

He looked at her with gleaming eyes, her blood staining his lips. "Good," was all he said before kissing her hard.

They were interrupted by the reappearance of Henri. He cleared his throat nervously as Vhandra looked at him expectantly. "My lady, she's gone."

"What do you mean, 'gone'?"

"She's escaped. I thought she was still locked in the basement." He cleared his throat again as the expression on his mistress's face darkened with rage.

"How did she get out?" she demanded, furious.

"It... it looks like she managed to take the lock off the door, there were tools... No one was guarding her." The young vampire looked like he'd prefer to be in the sun than here with his mistress. "I didn't think she would cause any more trouble," he offered shakily.

"Didn't think?" Vhandra raged at her now cringing fledgling. "When have I ever wanted you to think?"

"We'll find her, mistress. I already have men out searching for her. She can't get far. She has no money, no papers -- and she must be in pretty bad shape by now," he finished hopefully.

Vhandra paused in her furious passage around the room. "True. She's probably holed up somewhere, falling apart, trying to resist coming back here. Back to me and what she craves." She fixed an icy gaze on Henri. "Find her, bring her back here or you will pay dearly for your failure. Do you understand?"

The terrified young vampire nodded. "Yes, my lady, I'll find her." He fled the room.

LaCroix smirked. "While this little family drama has been fascinating. I'm still eager to hunt. Until later, my princess..." Before Vhandra could reply, he was gone.

* * *

LaCroix landed lightly behind Vhandra's rooms. It had been a satisfying hunt and he was feeling quite sated. Rio definitely did have a certain allure; he had never been able to hunt in Toronto with such freedom. As he walked towards Vhandra's private entrance, he sighed at the sound of her angry voice. As much as he enjoyed the more carnal aspects of his relationship with the Indian princess, he found her frequent rages tedious. From the sound of things, her runaway pet must have been found. 

"Did you really think you could escape me, Thia?" Vhandra's voice was heard to demand. When no answer was forthcoming, the sound of flesh hitting flesh could be heard, followed by the sound of a body hitting the floor.

If Vhandra wasn't careful, she was going to snap her little mortal's neck, he thought, debating whether he really wanted to go in. It was becoming quite tiresome, Vhandra and her 'in-betweens'. It seemed to have gone from eccentricity to obsession.

He supposed it was because she still clung to part of her mortal life. A thousand years ago, Vhandra's family has ruled vast parts of India. They were like gods to their people -- holding the power of life and death. Then one day, she became a god, but the world changed leaving her behind despite her immortality. She still needed to have people who lived or died by her whim. It wasn't enough to kill, not for her. It had to be more than that. Her 'subjects', her slaves, knowing that they woke each day by her will alone.

LaCroix laughed out loud. Nicholas never realized just how lucky he was. And so Vhandra had latched on to the idea of taking a mortal to the brink. Addicting them to vampire blood, keeping them enslaved with it. She was old enough to have the control to accomplish it. To be able to keep a mortal alive for years, feeding, but not killing. Her slaves, coming back to the mistress they feared and hated because they had no other choice.

He felt a touch of disquiet as he reached the door. Pausing for a moment, he tried to pin down where the feeling came from. Vhandra's voice was now pitched at a shrill monotone that lanced across LaCroix's nerves. "This time you will tell me everything I wish to know! Even if it means beating you into the ground, you will submit!" The sound of another blow falling rent the night, this time with the whistle and crack of leather. Then again when her hapless victim still remained silent. Only muffled sobs could be heard.

Deciding that the unmet Thia had more spirit than Vhandra deserved, LaCroix resolved to intervene on her behalf. If the girl could confound his lover, she might very well make a suitable fledgling. If not, he would make her end quick and put her out of the agony of the addiction that Vhandra had forced on her.

He entered the room --- and was transfixed in shock. The disquiet he had felt earlier coalesced into knowing as his eyes locked onto the mortal woman that was curled on the floor.

"Damn you!" Vhandra screamed, raising the riding crop in her hand for another blow. It never landed. LaCroix ripped it out of her hand, flinging the dumbfounded vampire across the room.

Henri, frozen in shock at the sudden turn of events, only stared at LaCroix before finally going to his mistress's aid where she lay stunned against the far wall.

Enraged, LaCroix tore the crop apart, hurling the pieces away from him. He dropped to his knees. "Gwenyth. What hell has brought you to this place?" he asked, gently stroking her hair.

At the sound of his voice, she stirred, warily peering out from under the arm she held protectively over her head. "Lucius? Is it really you this time or am I dreaming again?"

"No dream, my love." He gathered her carefully against him as she began to weep. Kissing her softly, he lifted her into his arms, and carried her outside. Ignoring the stream of invective that Vhandra hurled at him, he launched into the air and was gone.

* * *

LaCroix laid Gwenyth on the bed in his hotel suite, murmuring reassurance. She hadn't spoken, only clung to him, crying softly. "Don't leave me," she whispered desperately when he drew away from her. 

"I won't leave. I promise you. Never again." His lips bushed her check. "I am only going to get a warm cloth." She nodded, letting go of his hand.

He returned to her side, kissing her once more before wiping her face with the washcloth he'd brought. Gently, he tracked the trail of her tears, softly stroking them away, wincing inwardly at the bruises that marked her pale face.

"They'll heal quickly," she told him, noting how his eyes and fingers lingered on the marks. "Everything heals quicker now."

"The physical at least," he whispered half to himself, gently probing the wound that the crop had left across her arm.

Gwen squeezed his hand, drawing it to her lips. "Yes, the physical," she agreed, her eyes haunted.

LaCroix fought down the rage he felt, the desire to wreak vengeance on the one that had brought such pain to the one person he still held in his heart. That would have to keep for later. Gwen needed him now. Needed his strength to be directed at her and not to revenge.

If she had appeared frail the last time they had parted, now she was a pale shadow of that, her small bones in dramatic relief against the almost white pallor of her flesh. Her once hip-length mane of copper hair had been hacked away as if by a knife, leaving uneven hanks haphazardly across her scalp. The clothes she wore, a dress that was little more than a tube of black spandex, did little to conceal Gwen's spent body. Someone passing her on the street would take her for a whore, old and used up long before her time.

"I should have never left you unwatched," he told her, his voice breaking in mixed anguish and fury. "I thought I was letting you go. Doing what was best -- what you wanted. How could I have been so foolish?" His face twisted into a mask of grief for what his choices had wrought this last year.

Her hands reached up, cupping his face with gentle hands. "No, Lucius. This is not your guilt to bear." Tears once more streamed down her face. "You aren't omniscient, you had no way to know what the future would bring." Suddenly, she began to shiver uncontrollably. Her hands dropped to his, squeezing convulsively. "I can't..." she choked out, turning her head away, so he wouldn't see her weakness, her need.

"Don't." He forced her to look at him. "Never be ashamed with me, mon chere. I understand." His voice was full of the love he had shut away for so long. Everything he should have shared with her before he had decided to bring her across in anger. "How long?"

"Over a week," she admitted, trying to control the shaking of her voice and limbs. "In the beginning, I could go nearly a month without needing her blood. But now..." She broke off, taking a shuddering breath.

"But now you are trapped in a darkness that echoes unendingly around you. No escape from Vhandra's hell." Gently, carefully, he stroked her throat, trailing his fingers along the line of her collarbone to rest the coolness of his hand against the warmth of her chest. She sighed at the feeling of his flesh against hers, and the trembling began to calm.

Nodding, she continued, "It would be worse if not for Henri." At LaCroix's look of surprise, she explained, "Yes, he's terrified of Vhandra, but he tried as best he could to shield me when he was able. When they found me this time, I was already so far gone -- I would have begged her for release." A flash of pain showed in her eyes, quickly shuttered by months of trying to hide all emotion. LaCroix saw the mask fall across her features and grieved. Her beautiful blue eyes had always been windows to her soul; both Brigh's and Gwen's -- to see that gone was a blow.

When she fell silent, he asked, "What happened then?"

She shook herself, pulling away from the dark memories that threatened to overwhelm her. "Henri knew that she would use my suffering as a weapon to punish me. I would see no relief -- maybe for days. And he told me that Vhandra had a guest, an ancient, who would only help prolong whatever torment she had devised. So he gave me some of his own blood. Even knowing what she would do to him if she ever found out. It wasn't safe to give me much, but it was enough to keep me sane in the interim."

"It appears I owe young Henri a debt. I will not forget his kindness to you," he told her solemnly. He lifted her slightly and pulled off her soiled dress, tossing it aside, wanting nothing more than to burn it, as if by destroying it by fire he could also destroy the memories that haunted Gwenyth. "We will get you into a hot bath and then something to eat. When did you eat last?"

She shook her head. "I...I don't remember," she admitted.

"Then it is far too long. But first," he said as he sat farther back on the bed, pulling her gently into his lap, "let's take of more pressing needs." He drew a knife from his pocket in preparation.

"You...you don't want to drink from me?" she asked, her voice holding a note of fear that he no longer desired her. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked," she began in a rush, "I understand, she has tainted me, I'm sorry..." His kiss silenced her panicked rambling.

"Listen to me, Gwenyth. You are mine! Do you understand?" His voice was intent. "I marked you. Even when I let you go, still you were mine. Nothing she did to you will ever overcome that -- nothing!" She nodded, squeezing his arm tightly. Leaning down, he kissed her once more in reassurance. "You are too weak, my love. But never fear, we will have time in plenty for more lengthy explorations later." The look of hunger in his eyes did more to convince her than any words did.

Gwen watched him intently as he drew the blade across his wrist, releasing a crimson stream. The anticipation, the scent made her taut with need. It was all she could do to force her hands to stay at her sides. She shuddered when he placed his bleeding wrist against her lips, as the cool drops flowed into her mouth. Unable to keep her hands still any longer, she clutched his arm to her mouth, pulling it closer. As the blood burned down her throat, she squeezed her eyes shut, never seeing the look of rapture that flooded LaCroix's face as his blood succored her.

Then it was over. The wound on his wrist healed and he watched in fascination as the bruises on her face faded away to almost nothing. He moved to draw her closer, wanting to feel her body against his, to comfort her. But she rolled off his lap, sobbing uncontrollably, refusing to look at him.

He sighed, closing his eyes tiredly. How could he heal her hurt? He still had no idea how she had ended up in Vhandra's clutches, but knew she wasn't ready for such questions. Silently, he began to stroke her hair, wincing again at the butchery that had been done to it; remembering the one time they had made love and how it had spread across his bed like a molten cloak. Startled, he realized his memories were of Gwen and not of Brigh. When had that happened? Absently he toyed with one ragged end of her hair as he pondered this sudden realization.

"She took a knife from her wall and cut my hair off," Gwen's voice said suddenly into the silence. "She said it was to punish me for displeasing her, but I knew better. Vhandra hates anything that might compete with her, or that she feels threatened by. That's why I never told her about you. Maybe some stray bit of blood knowledge -- from you or from her -- I don't know. But some sixth sense warned me that the living hell my life was would be a pale comparison to what she would make it if she ever learned your identity." She became silent once more, still refusing to look at him.

He grasped her shoulders, firmly turning her over to face him. "I won't let you hide from me, Gwenyth. There is too much between us to ever go back."

She shook her head, running her fingers through her hair. "My one vanity. How she zeroed in on that," she said, laughing with no humor. "And after everything that's happened, I'm still grieving over its loss. How shallow is that? It isn't as if it won't grow back after all."

"It isn't shallow," he objected. "It represented your captivity, the loss of your freedom, your will. The hair was only a symbol. Something intensely personal that she violated. Don't reproach yourself for the loss you feel."

At his compassionate words, she found tears once more in her eyes. Angrily she brushed them away. "I'm sick to death of crying. For all these months I haven't let myself feel anything. Haven't allowed myself to cry. And now I've started I can't stop."

She sat up and of her own volition moved into the haven of LaCroix's arms. This time she allowed him to hold her, realizing it was as much for him as for her. "You are too hard on yourself," he remonstrated gently. "Few mortals could have survived even a few days what you bore for months."

"That's what comes from growing up with parents that I could never please. I was never good enough -- not the son they wanted. I never thought I'd be grateful for it!" Gwen pressed closer against the cool security of LaCroix's body as he held her tighter. "Vhandra was like my parents only in nightmare proportions. There was nothing I did that could please her. Not that I was all that interested in trying," she added almost wryly.

LaCroix chuckled at her last comment. "That doesn't surprise me terribly, mon amour."

"I think I should be offended by that remark, Lucius." She looked up at him, smiling.

"You have no idea how beautiful your smile is to me." Softly, he pressed his lips against hers, feeling the catch of her breath as she invited him deeper, her lips parting to his. Gwen's hands slid up to link behind his neck, pulling him closer. The moment seemed almost timeless -- two thousand years and three lifetimes all bound together in the light of a love that had almost been lost forever.

* * *

LaCroix watched Gwen eat like she hadn't eaten a thing in weeks. She had fallen asleep in his arms just after dawn. And deciding that sleep was the restorative she needed more than food, he let her be. Almost twelve hours later she had wakened, looking much better than she had the evening before. She had needed no urging to attack the food he had sent for. 

Pushing back her chair, she walked over to where he sat on the settee by the large windows that ran across the front of the twentieth floor suite, and slipped into his lap. The last colours of sunset still stained the sky. "I adore room service," she said happily before kissing him passionately.

"I'll have to remember that," he said, a half smile tugging at his lips at her enthusiasm. It all seemed so natural, almost as if they'd never been parted this last year. He only wished it could be so.

Suddenly serious, she toyed with the collar of his robe. "You haven't asked how..."

"You will tell me when you are ready, Gwenyth," he interrupted, knowing exactly what she meant.

Suddenly shy, Gwen dipped her head. "After the way we parted..." She paused, trying to express what she was feeling. "But now, it's almost like that never happened. This meeting again -- something I never imagined -- has made me feel complete; finally," she confessed, mirroring LaCroix's thoughts of only moments before. "It wasn't just gratitude that you had reappeared suddenly to rescue me. It was much more than that." She shook her head, not able to find the words.

"You were right that night when you accused me of wanting you to be Brigh. By the time I realized that I could have cared for who you are now, it was far too late -- or so I convinced myself," he told her, not entirely comfortable with the admission. "So I let you go; forever, I thought. The only weakness I allowed myself was leaving you the bracelet. I could only hope you would understand why." A hint of sadness was in his normally measured tone.

Gwen stroked his cheek with a soft hand. "I did understand. And you made the right choice. I needed time to get used to myself. To try and literally figure out who I was."

He kissed her fingertips as they brushed across his lips. "And did you?"

Nodding, she thought for a moment before answering. "I think so. Over the months, Brigh's memories softened. The sharp edges blurred and they began to seem like my memories. I don't feel like two separate people anymore. I will never be totally her, but she'll be a part of who I am forever. I think that's how it should be."

She laid her head against LaCroix's chest, shivering a little as his fingers brushed her throat; remembering. "The bracelet was like a lifeline," she said softly. "It became a symbol of my past and my future. I used to stare at it for hours, letting Brigh's memories permeate me. Not fighting them. I think that's what finally allowed me to make peace with myself. I wore it always..." One tear trickled down her face.

He traced the trail of the tear down her face with one long finger. "What is it?"

"You managed to keep my...your bracelet for two thousand years and I lost it in one," she said, fighting down the sob in her throat. "Vhandra took it from me almost immediately. Then she would wear it, delighting in having a visible symbol of her power over me. Knowing that it was precious to me, just not why."

LaCroix tilted her head up to look at him, his eyes full of implacable purpose. "I will get it back for you. I promise you that. No one shall ever wear it but you."

Gwen nodded, kissing his cheek before getting up and walking to the window, gazing down at the city below. "When I came here eight months ago it was with such hope. After nearly four months of being in my own head, I wanted to get back to work. To try and make a difference somewhere. So, I accepted a post running a mission shelter and orphanage. It seemed just what I'd been praying for. I was able to work mostly after dark, trying to help the packs of street children that haunt this God-forsaken city. That was perfect because the sunlight has hurt my eyes ever since..." she trailed off, lost in memories of the prior year when she'd first met LaCroix and he had taken her blood, changing her in ways she could never imagine.

He came to stand behind her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Go on," he urged softly.

She gave herself a mental shake and continued, "I threw myself into my work. Not leaving any time in my thoughts for what had brought me here. Thinking I had left vampires far behind in my old life. Then one night, I realized just how wrong I was...

St. Cuthbert's Mission: Six months earlier.

"Make sure you get to bed before dawn this time, Reverend Gwen."

Gwen laughed. "Have you been getting coaching from Father Wilton, Sister Anne?"

The older woman looked sidelong at Gwen as they walked across the mission courtyard. "He might have mentioned something in his last letter about you needing a keeper," the nun admitted. "And from what I've seen this last month, I think he's right. You don't do anyone any good if you work yourself to death," she scolded.

"And just who is in charge around here anyway?" Gwen asked good-naturedly as they entered the rectory building.

The sister snorted inelegantly. "Vicar or no, you're young enough to be my daughter. And if you need mothering to keep you from collapsing from exhaustion, then I'll be the one to do it...Reverend."

Gwen put her arm around Sister Anne's shoulder and squeezed it in gratitude. "Thank you, Sister. My own mother would never even notice."

"Some people don't deserve the good fortune that's right under their nose. You're a fine priest, Gwen. Don't let anyone ever tell you other."

"I won't, Sister."

The nun smiled as she opened the door to the hall. "Good girl. Now, remember, get some sleep!"

"I will. I just want to check on the children before I go. I'll be right behind you, I promise."

* * *

Gwen quietly opened the door to the girls' dormitory, the light from the full moon illuminating the sleeping forms. She walked down the rows of beds, tucking in a blanket here, rearranging a stuffed toy there. Satisfied that all was well she gently closed the door behind her and headed across the small courtyard to the boys' dormitory. 

Reaching the door, she paused, her skin prickling. She had an overwhelming sense of dread -- and familiarity. Her mind flashed back to the night six months ago when she had woken to the same feeling. There was a vampire on the other side of the door.

Not allowing herself to acknowledge the cold fear that gripped her, she reached to the wall beside her. She removed the plain wooden cross that hung there, not even sure it would do any good. Saying a prayer, she opened the door, holding the cross against her chest. They saw each other in almost the same instant. The vampire, at the far end of the room, flinched a little at the sight of Gwen's cross, but other than that made no reaction.

"Don't touch him!" Gwen hissed, advancing farther into the room. The vampire ignored her and pulled the cover back from the sleeping boy. Finally, Gwen was on the other side of the bed, face to face with one of the most beautiful women she had ever seen. "Stop, right now." She thrust the cross at the woman and was rewarded with the vampire pulling away from the bed and the child that slept there.

The woman looked at Gwen with golden eyes and she pushed back the memory of the last time she had seen eyes like that, her free hand going unconsciously to her throat.

The vampire noted the movement. "How delightful. A 'marked' mortal," the woman said in a voice like velvet. "The last thing I expected to find in this gathering of peasants." Gwen backed herself against the wall just as the vampire moved. The woman seemed amused, now standing directly in front of Gwen. "Excellent reflexes. But just how long do you think you can ward me off with your little cross?"

"You don't need to be here. There is a city full of cutthroats for you to hunt. These children are innocent," Gwen said, not answering the question.

"That's exactly the point, my little missionary. I have a taste for innocent blood tonight," she almost growled the last.

"I won't let you have them," Gwen said fiercely.

"How noble -- how very foolish." She laughed, the sound of tinkling bells. It made Gwen's blood run cold. "Once you move away from that wall, I'll have you. And if you don't move away, how are you going to stop me from doing this?" The vampire moved again, this time to the opposite end of the room. "Or this?" Now she was in the middle, her hand on the throat of a sleeping child. "You must have realized that you had no chance of stopping me before you came in here, didn't you, my little missionary?"

Gwen's heart was pounding so hard she could barely breathe. "I could scream, wake all the children and half the mission. I know it's against the rules for you to reveal yourself to so many," she said quietly.

Suddenly, the vampire was standing in front of her again. "You do have a point," she said conversationally, tilting her head slightly to the side as she pondered. "So, that takes care of tonight. But what about tomorrow night, or the night after that? You can't protect all these children. Not to mention the staff, and all those good sisters," she said, mock regret lacing her voice.

Gwen shook her head, trying to keep her wits about her. In her heart she despaired, but she wouldn't give the woman the satisfaction of seeing that.

The vampire tapped her chin with one well-manicured forefinger. "But, I'm not an unreasonable woman. I said I wanted innocent blood tonight. And I think yours will do quite nicely. I'll even offer you a deal. You come to me, willingly, and I'll spare the children. Your life for theirs." She leaned against the bed frame casually. "I think that's fair -- don't you?"

Gwen took a deep breath, her legs weak beneath her. She was so afraid -- she didn't want to die. Even knowing with utter certainty what lay beyond didn't make it any easier to willingly step into the void. But the vampire had her in a corner and she knew it. Finally finding her voice, she asked, "You'll never come here again?" She wanted to make sure there were no loopholes.

"Never."

"I want your word."

"Very well. I swear on my bloodline that I will never come here again if you come with me, exchanging your life for theirs."

Gwen nodded and said a silent prayer. She placed the cross on the nightstand next to her and stepped away from the wall. The vampire had a look of triumph on her face.

"Come along," she said, taking Gwen's hand, "it's far too beautiful a night to be inside."

As they reached the doors, one of the children woke. "Mama Thia?" the sleepy little voice questioned.

"It's all right, Martino. I was just checking on you all before I went to bed." She leaned down to tuck him in. "Go back to sleep," she said, her voice catching. He nodded sleepily as she left the room, closing the door softly behind her. The vampire was waiting for her in the courtyard.

"Thia? What a lovely name." Gwen didn't correct her. There seemed little point considering they wouldn't know one another for long. "Now, Thia, be a good girl and sit on that bench," she said, pointing.

Totally numb, she did as she was instructed. Gwen allowed herself one brief memory of Lucius, and then shut it away. She wouldn't share any more of herself through her blood that she had to. Instead, she began to mentally recite the twenty-third psalm, thinking of nothing else. Let her killer chew on that blood knowledge, she thought with grim humor.

The vampire trailed her fingers across Gwen's back before slipping them over her shoulders to undo the collar of her blouse. Pushing the fabric away Gwen could feel her breath cold against her throat. Gripping the edge of the bench, she waited for the bite.

"Come now, Thia, relax. You know it will be all the more painful if you are so tense."

It was all Gwen could do to force back a bubble of hysterical laughter at the vampire's seemingly concerned instruction.

"Very well. If you insist on being stubborn." With no further words, she bit into Gwen's throat, one hand coming up to cover Gwen's mouth to muffle the scream that was torn from her.

As she fed, Gwen's body relaxed against her, no longer fighting. Accepting her death. \ ...though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I shall fear no evil, for thou art with me.../ The blackness seeped through her prayer, and drew her down into nothingness...

* * *

The blackness lifted and Gwen found herself waking up in a strange bed -- not at all dead. Slowly the memories of what had happened filtered into her brain. "Why aren't I dead?" she whispered to herself, jumping when a voice answered. 

"Because the Lady Vhandra isn't merciful enough to give us death," a male voice said bitterly.

Gwen tilted her head towards the sound of the voice to see a short, pale young man with shoulder length black hair, standing next to the bed. She felt the prickling again, but not the dread. "You're a vampire."

The man laughed harshly. "I can see why she'd be fascinated with you. Not many of the 'marked' ones have such perception." He reached for a glass on the nightstand and handed it to her. "Drink this."

She almost dropped the glass before the man sighed in irritation and held it for her, helping her drink the juice it contained. After she was finished, he helped her sit up. As he did so, she suddenly realized she was naked beneath the thin sheet that covered her. She pressed the sheet to her chest, a wave of embarrassment flooding her pale face with colour.

The vampire, noticing her discomfiture, offered advice. "Don't let Vhandra see your modesty or she'll use it against you. She'll use any weakness against you to break you down."

Gwen nodded, assuming Vhandra must be the female vampire that she had made the deal with. "Why am I here? And who are you?"

"Why? You're here for the same reason all of Vhandra's slaves are -- to amuse her. To worship her," he said, his face twisting with remembered humiliation. "My name is Henri. A vampire; but a slave nonetheless."

The door to the bedroom slammed back against the wall as Vhandra stormed through, interrupting their conversation. Gwen squared her shoulders, holding her ground, but Henri shrank back at the sight of his obviously angry mistress. "You!" she hissed, pointing an accusing finger at Gwen. In the other hand she clenched a newspaper. "Read it," she commanded Henri, shoving the paper at him.

Henri did as he was told, quickly scanning the Portuguese language article before beginning to read in English. "Authorities have no leads in the disappearance of the Reverend Gwenyth Frizell, who disappeared early Tuesday morning from St. Cuthbert's Orphanage which she was the administrator of. The Reverend Frizell, a Canadian national from Halifax, Nova Scotia had taken charge of the orphanage only one month ago. Sister Anne Burl, a nun that works at the orphanage, last saw her late Monday evening. There were no signs of a struggle and no body has been found. Authorities fear that she may have been taken hostage by guerrilla groups hostile to Western governments."

"The police have already been here," Vhandra shouted, "and are showing your picture at every door in the city! Do you know how much trouble you have caused me?"

"I'm sorry I didn't show you my resume before you decided to drain me!" Gwen replied hotly, hearing Henri's sharp intake of breath beside her. She didn't have time to regret her words before Vhandra's palm cracked across her cheek, knocking the breath from her.

The vampire grabbed her by the throat pulling her close. "It's unwise to upset me, little mortal. Just ask Henri." Her laugh was chilling in its coldness. Vhandra ran a finger through the blood that trickled from the split in Gwen's lip, licking it away slowly. Releasing Gwen, she pushed her roughly away, pacing the room for a few moments before speaking again. "The authorities seem most upset that they have no body." Vhandra fixed her with a predatory glare. "Perhaps I should provide them with one," she said, each word dripping from her lips like acid.

Gwen shook her head, pressing herself against the headboard. "I faced that fear yesterday. It no longer holds any terror for me," she said, keeping her voice steady. "I won't beg you for my life."

Vhandra advanced on her menacingly. "If you no longer fear death, my little mortal, then I'm certain I can make you fear life even more..."

* * *

Gwen stopped speaking, staring out the window, absolutely still, as if trying to escape the pain her memories brought. Turning away, she looked up at LaCroix. "The next six months were one long nightmare that I woke up from when I heard your voice -- felt you in my soul once more." 

He traced the outline of her face with his fingertips. "If I could have taken you from that nightmare long ago..."

"That was why I escaped you know." He shook his head, not understanding. She sank into a chair next to the window before continuing, "She thought she'd finally broken me that last time. Had me thrown into a cell in the basement. I'd planned for that -- had secreted tools there for the eventuality." Gwen stared at her hands in her lap and realized they were shaking. "I thought I'd planned for everything. But Vhandra was the one variable I couldn't plan for with any certainty. I purposely angered her. It had to be enough for her to lock me up and throw away the key, but not enough that she snapped my neck," she explained, smiling grimly. "But I miscalculated slightly -- she flew into a rage and I ended up unconscious with, I'm assuming, a concussion."

"You don't need to continue, my love," LaCroix told her, feeling her pain through their reforged bond.

Gwen shook her head sharply. "No, I need to. Please, Lucius."

"Very well. But come, sit with me." He took her hand in his.

"No. Please. If you hold me I'll start crying again." She squeezed his hand and took a deep breath. "I came to, having no idea how much time had passed and terrified that somehow my plans had been discovered. But everything I'd hidden away was still there. I got myself out to find that blessedly, the sun had just come up. That gave me at least a day. One of the things I'd been hoarding was money, so I found a phone booth and tried to contact you..." Her voice broke on the last.

"But I was gone," he finished for her.

"Yes," she whispered. "The phone at the Raven had been disconnected. I'd spent all those months planning my escape -- even if it was just for a few hours -- to make one phone call. I lost all hope when I tried to call Nicholas. His line had been disconnected too, so I called the Toronto Police Department. They transferred me to someone and they told me he was missing and presumed dead." She looked at LaCroix for confirmation.

He just shook his head, his expression pained. "We will discuss Nicholas later. Not now. Please, Gwenyth."

She nodded, not pressing him. "I didn't know what to do. Vhandra had continued to hold the children, my staff, over my head as a threat. And my head hurt so much; I was shaking from needing her blood. I couldn't think. I froze. For the first time I truly wanted to die. That was how Henri found me. You know the rest."

LaCroix didn't answer; there was nothing he could say. Turning away he poured a glass of blood wine from the bottle on the table and sank into an armchair next to the sofa. Gwen followed a moment later and sat on the plush silver carpet at his feet, leaning against his knee. She tilted her head, watching him silently as he sipped from his glass, obviously lost in his own thoughts. Finishing, he sat the glass down, returning her look of watchful silence, absently stroking the arm she had laid across his thigh.

Like a strike of lightening, his mood changed and his hand dropped to cup her throat, his lips descending to kiss her hungrily. Gwen returned the kiss with increasing fervor, tasting the coolness of him, tasting the remnants of the blood wine he had drunk sharp against her tongue and finding it not unpleasant. Fleetingly she wondered just how much she had changed before the feel of his hands sliding down her breasts drove all such introspection from her mind.

Drawing her to her knees, he pulled her between his thighs, pushing away the folds of her robe. His hands held the same combination of butterfly delicacy and leashed power that she remembered so well and it sent a stab heat deep into her center. There was so much still that was between them, but for now, this was enough. LaCroix lifted her into his arms and their eyes met. It was more than enough.

* * *

"No one treats me in such a manner. No one!" Vhandra screamed in the wreck of her bedchamber. She had torn it apart in a rage and now had nothing left to destroy -- except LaCroix and his pathetic mortal. As she seethed a glimmer of an idea began to form. 

Stalking into the sitting room, she spied Henri lurking in a corner. "Henri! The phone, now!" She took a deep steadying breath, poising herself for the coming conversation. It would take just the right touch. Vhandra had been manipulating people into doing what she wanted all her life. With just a little more effort on her part, she could have her revenge leaving her hands clean.

Her fledgling handed her the phone. Vhandra took one last calming breath before dialing. "Guten tag, Wilhelm. --- I'm flattered you remember me so well," she laughed engagingly, playing her part. "Yes, I remember my little soirees with much fondness. But, Wilhelm, the reason for my call isn't a pleasant one. A few months ago, there was a very high profile disappearance. It was in all the papers. Quite the stir was caused. I'm afraid I've discovered some rather disturbing news -- LaCroix was responsible. What makes this so unfortunate is that he's kept the women alive, right here in the city. It's only a matter of time before the mortal authorities discover them. --- Yes, I know this is hard to believe, and I hate this. He and I go back such a long way. --- I agree. Our first loyalty must always be to the safety of the Community. --- Will you? You have no idea how much this means to me. --- I knew that you were the one I should turn to. --- I will take care of the mortal and leave LaCroix to justice. ---- Danke, Wilhelm." She hung up the phone, the smile on her face twisting her features into an ugly mask of hate.

"Henri, pen and paper. I have a peace offering to make..."

* * *

Gwen and LaCroix lay entwined together on the bed, both content to let the silence embrace them. Why couldn't it always be this simple, she wondered? To just be able to love each other. But when had they ever been able to? Roman and Gaul or vampire and mortal, the labels changed -- but not the conflict that such opposition caused. 

Realizing she would find no answers to her ponderings, she sighed and turned in LaCroix's arms. She nestled against the cool strength of his chest, determined to hold onto the simple fact of loving him for as long as she could. His fingers began to stroke her shoulder lightly, barely touching the skin. Gwen shivered in pleasure at the feel of it -- like spider webs drifting across her flesh. When his touch reached her throat, her shivers turned to trembling. She bit her lip to hold back a groan of pleasure when he lingered on the fresh wounds his fangs had made.

She threw her head back at the sensation. It was so pleasurable it was almost painful. "How can it be like this?" she managed to ask in a breathless gasp. At his chuckle she opened her eyes to see a look on his face that was positively wicked in its smugness.

"Did you miss the lecture on the birds and the bees, my love?" he whispered, his tone teasing. "Because if you did, I would be more than happy to rectify the omission."

"Ohhh!" she exclaimed. "That is not what I meant and you know it!" She grabbed his hand, stilling it. "It isn't an ability all vampires have, is it? I mean Vhandra never had me immobilized with passion." She snorted indelicately. "The fist time I came to the Raven, I was terrified of you, yes, but at the same time I felt like I was drowning in pleasure. You did that to me. I felt you take my thoughts, my will..." She stopped, frustrated at trying to put into words what she felt.

"I understand what you are trying to say. But I'm not sure if I can adequately explain." LaCroix sighed, gathering his thoughts. "A vampire requires control to survive -- mental and physical -- both to avoid detection by mortal society and to hunt. Some of us have more than others. Age brings some measure of control, but it has to be practiced, honed. It is a skill like any other. Feeding is more than just the blood -- it is the emotions laden in that blood."

"So by seducing me, you fed off that eroticism -- not just from my blood?"

"Exactly!" he replied, pleased by her insight.

"And Vhandra was looking for something totally different -- fear, hopelessness, degradation."

"She told me that you had been able to conceal the identity of the vampire who marked you from her. Part of that was your own strength of will -- which is considerable," he said, smiling down at her. "But also it was due to her own weakness. Vhandra's uneven temperament affects her control; over herself and others."

"Uneven temperament? She's psychotic, Lucius!" Gwen forestalled his reply. "No, she is. You come off practically...normal, compared to her. Terrifying yes. Ruthless, merciless in achieving your goals, but not psychotic." She shook her head.

LaCroix looked slightly uncomfortable at the turn the conversation was taking. Sitting up, he steepled his fingers, not looking at her. "There would have been times in my past, that had we met, you would not have had a much better opinion of me."

Gwen knelt next to him. "I realize that, Lucius. No one knows better than I how capable of violence you are. How ferocious your emotions can be; love and hate." Taking a deep breath she gave voice to the unspoken that lay between them. "If it hadn't been me that you found Vhandra beating... You would have stood aside. Done nothing and then enjoyed whatever debasement she had planned." Gwen looked him straight in the eye, not allowing him to escape the truth.

Only a slight tightening of his lips betrayed any sign of how her statement affected him. The realization that it was a statement and not a question bothered him more than he cared to admit. He realized in that moment that her thinking well of him meant more to him than he would have ever thought. Feeling more than a little defensive, he said stiffly, "I will not apologize for my nature. I can not change what is past, would that I could."

"Oh, my love," she said with irritated affection, "I'm not accusing you. I've learned my lesson." She kissed his cheek. "Honestly I have."

He refused to be mollified, despite her reassurance. "Nor did you ask. You merely assumed."

She sat back, looking at him a moment before asking, "Do you deny it?"

"As a matter of fact, I do. If you must know, I had decided that Vhandra didn't deserve 'Thia'. Indeed, I was resolved to bring her across, or to kill her -- freeing her from Vhandra's torment." LaCroix shot her a look, daring her to doubt him. Instead of doubt, however, he found tears slipping down her face.

"You would have done that?"

He nodded, taking her hand. "Yes." LaCroix watched her, carefully choosing his next words. "Those were the only two options to free her. And, mon chere, they are the only two that you have as well." She tried to pull away, but her wouldn't let her. "No, listen to me, Gwenyth. There is no going back to your mortal life; you have been changed too much. You can not continue in this state -- it is not possible."

"Can not or you won't allow it, Lucius?" she asked accusingly.

"Can't, won't; they are one and the same in this matter," he told her firmly. She shook her head sharply in denial of his words. "I've tried to explain to you the emotion in feeding. That dynamic goes even farther when one of my kind finds a mortal they wish to bring across. It is akin to the mortal biological imperative to procreate. I cannot deny those feelings for you, Gwenyth, any more than I can deny my need for blood. If you stay with me -- and as you are now you have little choice -- it will happen."

Her eyes darted around the room -- anywhere but his face. "I don't want to think about this now," she whispered.

"But think about it you must," he said insistently, taking her face in his hands. '"You told me how it makes you feel to be trapped by the need you have now for our blood. Do you really want to exist that way for the rest of your days? Do you?"

"No," she choked.

"And how long before you came to resent me? And you would, eventually. You know you would. We have come so far, you and I, overcoming the pain of our past. I will not go back, Gwenyth. I will not!" he finished fiercely.

A blanket of calm fell over her as she sat there. Looking at her lover with sad eyes, she asked, "And what if I choose death? Are you equally willing to fulfill that choice, my love?"

The look of anguish in his eyes tore at her with a pain that was almost physical. "Don't ask that of me. Do you truly wish me to suffer your death at my hands a second time? For I am as responsible for the poison that took you from me all those ages ago as I would be were I to drain your life away now."

"It would not be by your hand, my love. I wouldn't ask that of you. But I will ask for your acceptance if that is the path I choose." Gwen felt such love and grief in that moment that she thought her heart would break. She didn't want to die, but she wasn't sure that the life that Lucius offered her was one that she could bear to live -- even with him by her side.

The reality that Gwen might indeed choose death struck LaCroix like a blow. Were their lives doomed to repeat the same grievous ending over and over? "Before you decide, think on this: You have faith in your God, do you not?"

"Yes, Lucius. You know I do."

"Would he be as capricious to bring us back together through death and time only to separate us once more? You told me once that there had to be a reason for what was. Then tell me, what is the reason for this, Gwenyth?" He left the bed and began to pace the room, then turned to face her once more. "I need you. I love you -- as much as I ever did. Don't leave me again," he said fiercely

Gwen knew how much it had taken for him to say the words. He was a proud man and little used to admitting needing anyone or anything. She knew he loved her, but it meant a great deal nonetheless to hear him say it. Going to him she took his hand and pressed it against her heart. "And I love you, Lucius. But you know as well as I that love is not always sufficient to sustain us through life's trials." She shook her head, sorrow hanging around her like a cloak. "My heart will always be yours, no matter the path I walk."

He took her in his arms. "Walk the path with me, Gwenyth. Walk it with me."

* * *

LaCroix, still standing by the door, put down the letter that the bellboy had delivered moments before. Gwen, looking much better after the hotel's hairdresser had styled what remained of her hair after Vhandra had hacked it off, waited for him to tell her what it contained. 

"Well?" she finally queried somewhat impatiently from where she sat on the corner of the bed. "It's from her isn't it?" The way Gwen said 'her' was like a curse.

It was the fourth day since LaCroix had rescued Gwen from her enslavement. Food, sleep, clean clothes, and not the least, the love they were rediscovering, had worked wonders. But the effects of the hell she'd endured for half a year still marked her. The opal green linen pantsuit she wore, while impeccably tailored, did nothing to hide the fact that she was still far too thin. Any sudden noise or movement paralyzed her in remembered dread. But he was pleased to see that the dark bruises under her eyes had faded. The ancient vampire could only hope that the wounds to her soul would heal so well.

He briefly considered lying, but decided that it would be pointless. "Yes, it is." But he said no more than that. A preemptory hand silenced the beginnings of her protest when it appeared no other information was forthcoming. But knowing Brigh was knowing Gwen, and LaCroix knew that she wouldn't wait for an explanation much longer.

Still contemplating the contents of Vhandra's letter, he walked slowly across the room to sit in the chair by the window, the lights of Rio like a picture framed in panes of glass. No stars were visible in the man made night. Sensing an imminent explosion from Gwen, he finally relented. "She wants to see me... To ask my pardon."

"To put a stake through your heart!" Gwen exclaimed.

"She would not dare," LaCroix stated, completely assured in his superiority.

Laughing with no humour, she leapt from her seat on the bed. "Don't underestimate her, Lucius! You don't know her like I do." Agitated, she paced the room like it was a cage.

"Calm yourself, my love. I have known Vhandra for almost a thousand years. I am well aware of what she is capable of."

"No, you aren't," she contradicted, stopping in front of him, hands on her hips, defiant. His eyes flashed a little at her attitude, but he held his peace. "You know her from the perspective of a predator. I know her as prey. Believe me when I tell you, Lucius, that you are now prey in her eyes."

"Then she will die." He stood, his body almost touching Gwen's. She merely tilted her head, looking up at him, refusing to give ground. "Her death is assured regardless. She will pay for her treatment of you and then I shall kill her." LaCroix was implacable. The utter calm certainty with which he made his pronouncement caused Gwen to shiver.

Noticing her unease, he reached for her, but Gwen stepped away, shaking her head. "Dear God, Lucius, reconsider this course! It will end badly, I know this. Please, walk away. I beg you." Her voice broke. "For once, believe when I tell you what will pass."

LaCroix turned away from the pain in her eyes. His desire for vengeance warred with wanting to do as she asked. He pushed away other times when Brigh had tried to share her sight with him. "Gwen, you're overwrought," he finally said, vengeance winning. "Believe me when I tell you that Vhandra is no danger to me, or to you. I will go to her, and I will end it, once and for all."

Shoulders slumping in defeat, Gwen nodded. "Very well, Lucius. We'll go to Vhandra – together. I won't let you leave me alone here," she said fiercely as he began to protest.

Nodding, he said, "Together then."

* * *

"Oh, Lucien, I would have never kept Thi...Gwenyth, from you once I knew you had a prior claim!" Vhandra was practically purring her words. 

LaCroix remained silent at the vampire's assurances. He and Gwen had arrived in his old lover's apartments some minutes before to be met by a seemingly apologetic Vhandra. This time, she was dressed in a sari. The crimson silk, patterned with black embroidery, accentuated her lethal beauty. He could feel the tightly reigned fear that emanated from Gwen, who stood slightly behind and to the side of him. He knew that she desperately wanted to grasp his arm, to feel the security of his touch. But she didn't reach for him, far too proud to let Vhandra see any physical manifestation of her fear.

Instead of replying, he demanded instead, "The bracelet you took from her. I want it returned. I will have everything that is mine this night."

Something dark flashed in Vhandra's eyes and he felt a moment of unease. The same emotion flashed from Gwen, mixed with a sharp bite of terror as she moved almost imperceptibly closer to his side. He pushed all feeling aside. This was nonsense; he was allowing Gwen's understandable fear to affect him. Vhandra was no threat.

Whatever she was feeling, Vhandra also controlled. "I'm disappointed, Lucien, that you insist on making this so unpleasant. But, if you insist," she said with an airy wave of a hand. "I'll be a moment." With that, she went through a door at the back of her sitting room.

Gwen leaned into him, her body taut with urgency. "Please, Lucius, please." Looking down at her, he saw eyes that were deep pools of pain and panic. "We have to leave now, or we'll not leave here at all." This time he did try and reassure her with his touch, placing an arm protectively around her shoulders, pulling her close.

"Just a little while longer, and all will be well." Gwen made no answer, just shuddered a little as she pressed closer to his side.

LaCroix noted Henri, silent, in a far corner of the room. Vhandra's young fledgling had spoken no word since the two had entered his mistress's lair. But even in silence, his face spoke volumes. The boy was terrified and it was more than just fear of Vhandra. Perhaps Gwen's uneasiness had merit -- something was very off here.

Before he could act, Vhandra returned, the wolf head bracelet on a small velvet pillow that lay on her upturned palms. She paused, just a few feet from where LaCroix and Gwen stood. An aura of menace poured off the one-time Indian princess and Gwen clutched at his arm convulsively. LaCroix knew that she was near the end of her endurance. If this went on much longer, the fragile control she maintained would shatter like so much crystal.

"Everything that is yours," Vhandra said with poisonous finality as she hurled the pillow and the bracelet at LaCroix. Startled and off balance, LaCroix didn't see the pistol that Vhandra held till he heard it go off.

He felt the sensation of pain as the bullet pierced his chest, then the burning of something more than metal. The roaring in his ears coiled with Gwen's screams as he fell to his knees. Curare, the thought came to him, as the poison crept through his body, immobilizing it. He fell back, paralyzed, unable to react or to protect Gwen, let alone himself.

Gwen was torn away from his prone form by one of Vhandra's servants, her scream like a bleeding wound. The nightmare that was taking life before her eyes was too much for her and the months of trauma had their due. Wrenching away from the human servant that held her, Gwen launched herself at her nemesis like a madwoman, keening with incoherent rage and loss as she attacked the vampire.

Startled at the unexpected attack, it took the vampire a moment to overpower the tormented mortal woman. Soon though, Vhandra had the upper hand. Throwing Gwen across the room and silencing her with chilling finality as she hit the wall with a sickening thud, collapsing like a doll to the floor.

"I will finish with you later," she spat at the broken form before calling out, "Wilhelm, I leave what remains to you. Justice at last."

Wilhelm. The name pounded in LaCroix's thoughts. Wilhelm – Enforcers. Now it all was made clear. Curare to incapacitate him so that LaCroix would be unable to defend himself against whatever charges Vhandra has created to bring them here. He was overwhelmed with grief and rage. He'd failed Gwen after promising to protect her. He should have listened. Once more, Gwen would die an agonizing death because of him.

Several Enforcers stood over LaCroix's paralyzed body, one with a stake in hand. In vain, he tried to shake off the affects of the curare. The only movement he was able to make was a slight twitch at his hands and feet. It would be too late by the time he could move his body -- just as Vhandra had planned.

"I'm so sorry it came to this," Vhandra said sadly to Wilhelm.

"Indeed," the stocky blonde German vampire agreed. "LaCroix was one of the best of us. I blame this all on his son, Nicholas." The vampire walked over to look down at LaCroix. "I'm sorry, my old friend, but you leave us with no choice." He nodded to the Enforcer with the stake. "Do it. And make it clean."

LaCroix closed his eyes, reaching out for Gwen with his mind. She lay near death, and he could only hope that she died before Vhandra could interfere. Maybe they would meet again in some other life. It gave him an odd comfort to believe so, here in his last moments. He knew Brigh had believed that, and she had been right. Surely they'd be given a chance to love each other through an entire lifetime one day.

His last thoughts were interrupted by a shout of denial. "No! This is wrong." Henri's voice shook with fear. "She did this!"

LaCroix opened his eyes to see the Enforcers' attention no longer on him. Tentatively, he tried turning his head and was rewarded with movement.

His voice growing stronger with each word, Henri pointed an accusing finger at his Mistress. "She was the one that took the mortal woman. She was the one that risked discovery."

"Are you mad?" Vhandra shouted. She turned to Wilhelm. "My fledgling is lying. He's never appreciated my gift to him and has always resented his place here." She looked at the Enforcer with doe-soft eyes, her voice low and hurt. "I've done so much for him, and this is how I'm repaid."

"I'm not lying! I was here when the police were looking for the woman priest. But still Vhandra kept her here, risking everything!"

"You would accuse your mistress, boy?" Wilhelm asked.

LaCroix's voice, barely audible, scratched out, "He tells the truth. Vhandra has snared you in her lies."

This time, the Enforcers turned towards Vhandra. Finally, the madness that dwelt in her found outlet. "You're going to believe them over me? I am a princess!" she screamed. "How dare you judge me?"

LaCroix painfully levered himself up, half-lying, and half-sitting on the floor. He needed blood to rid himself of the last effects of the curare. There was a decanter on the coffee table near where he lay. He inched himself over to the table, unnoticed.

Shots rang out in the small room as Vhandra used the curare bullets to ward off the advancing Enforcers. Two fell as she used the diversion to fly from the room, the rest of the Enforcers in pursuit.

LaCroix dropped the now empty container, feeling the blood course through his veins, clearing away the poison. Then Henri was at his side, thrusting another bottle into his hands. LaCroix downed the contents of it as well.

Henri offered the ancient vampire his hand. Accepting, he allowed Vhandra's fledgling to help him to his feet. Every moment that passed, he felt stronger.

The two vampires ran to Gwen's side. LaCroix didn't need to see the viscous head wound to know that she was dying. He sat on the floor, gently lifting her against him. "Gods, Gwen, what am I to do?" he whispered, cradling her in his arms. And he truly didn't know what to do. In his heart, LaCroix knew that death would very likely be the path she would choose.

"You're going to bring her across!" Henri said fiercely.

LaCroix looked over at the young vampire, his face full of certainty at what should be done. He wished he could be so sure. "Even if that's not what she would want?"

"You don't know that! Are you going to let her just die when you could prevent it? Her gentleness, her beauty, just let it go? If anyone deserves forever, it's Thia." The young vampire brushed his fingers against her cheek, speaking almost to himself. "She always treated me with kindness. It didn't matter what degradation Vhandra devised or the things I did from fear of my mistress. Thia never judged me, never accused."

Shaking his head wordlessly, LaCroix looked down at Gwen, and for a moment saw Brigh's face. Brazil disappeared and he was once more in Gaul, as Brigh lay dying in his arms. LaCroix remembered all to vividly the grief and anguish as her spirit had slipped the binding of her earthly body. He couldn't go again into that darkness. To that place without love, without soul...without her.

He felt her spirit falter, like a draft catching at a candle flame.

"She's dying," Henri whispered, gripping LaCroix's arm.

One tear slipped down the ancient vampire's face, softly falling to rest on Gwen's pale cheek. LaCroix locked on to the small drop of moisture as if it were his only path to salvation. "Leave us," he told Henri.

The young vampire acquiesced, realizing that whatever was to happen, the two needed to be alone. "Keep her here," were his last words before closing the door behind him.

There was no sound but the faint beat of Gwen's heart. Soon, even that would be silenced. LaCroix fought for emotional control as he prepared for what was to come. "Forgive me, Gwenyth." He brushed his lips against hers before burying his fangs into her throat.

Decision made, there could be no holding back. He poured all that he was, all that he would ever be, into their ever-strengthening bond. The flame of her spirit guttered, then flared into a blazing light that encompassed him.

Pulling away, he tore open his wrist with the same fangs that had drunk so deeply of her blood, so that she might drink from him. A wave of exultation, mixed with sorrow, crashed through him, leaving him stunned as Gwen mindlessly drank from the wound at his wrist.

Just as suddenly, it was still, the calm in the eye of a hurricane. LaCroix carried his love outside, under the light of the crescent moon, remembering the flames two thousand years ago that had turned the moon the colour of blood and his heart the black of night.

But not this time, this time it would be different -- it had to be. Holding Gwen close, LaCroix launched into the silver light of the night towards whatever the fates decreed.

End

* * *


End file.
